


Man with a Plan

by ifreet



Category: Leverage
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-28
Updated: 2010-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 09:52:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifreet/pseuds/ifreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warning: drinking + rivals + sex = consent issues</p><p>An angry, drunken Nate and a gloating Sterling meet in a bar, resulting in a pre-series PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man with a Plan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [_unhurt_](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=_unhurt_).



Innocuous music, inoffensive decor, carefully groomed and uniformed staff. Everything aimed for tasteful and fell short at utterly banal. Sterling barely contained the sneer that wanted to break across his face. He rarely frequented hotel bars even while he was staying in the places. But he wasn't here for the ambiance, what there was of it, nor the drinks. He was looking for someone.

And there sat the man himself, every bit as bad as office rumor said. Ford slouched against the bar in a manner that suggested sitting upright unsupported was no longer an option. The collection of glasses before him lent credence to the theory, as did the wildly untamed hair. The bartender's work seemed to be keeping him as far from Ford as possible, discreetly avoiding him.

As Sterling walked over, he took in the state of Ford's clothes, and his hand came to his own tie to straighten it unnecessarily. The suit, which was hardly likely to be off-the-rack, now fit Ford like a rather expensive burlap sack and looked as rumpled and creased as if it had been slept in. He held up a hand to the bartender, signaled for two more of whatever Ford had been drinking, and slid onto the stool beside him.

"Ford," he greeted. "Aiming to become I.Y.S.'s top drunkard? I suppose the competition for that honor isn't as stiff."

The bartender slid their drinks in front of him, and he paid, then passed one to Ford. The Nathan Ford with whom he'd been locked in competition from their first days at I.Y.S. would never accept the drink, not coming accompanied by insult and unwelcome company as it was. But despite a somewhat red-eyed glare, this Ford did. Sterling shook his head. Despite what some of I.Y.S.'s more fraudulent clients thought, he wasn't without sympathy. He understood that Ford had suffered a loss, and if Ford had requested compassionate leave, Sterling wouldn't have held it against him. Not much, at least. But instead, Ford insisted on bringing his career -- his entire life -- down around his ears. _Pathetic_ , Sterling thought and tasted his drink -- a nicely aged whiskey, at least Ford's taste hadn't declined in this arena. Not that Ford seemed to be tasting his, knocking it back before returning to staring bleakly forward at nothing in particular.

Sterling sipped his whiskey and watched Ford. By this time tomorrow, _Sterling_ would be I.Y.S.'s undisputed top investigator. By this time tomorrow, Ford would be fired. Sterling wondered again how Ford could possibly have thought that he could keep the drinking a secret in a department full of trained investigators. Had Sterling not been tied up in Chicago for the past month wrapping up the Dresden diamonds case, he would have noticed it for himself and not been alerted to Ford's sudden and cataclysmic downward spiral by others. He was fairly confident no one else knew about the impending firing, though -- that had come straight from the boss, giving him a heads-up that he'd be taking over several of Ford's more challenging cases.

He smiled into his glass. "Aren't you the life of the party?"

Ford blinked and turned toward him, eyes a bit vague. "Sorry," he said, his voice gravelly, like he hadn't used it in hours. "I'm a bit fucked."

Sterling hissed in a breath through his teeth at the phrasing, and the slight burn of the alcohol settled into a warmth in his groin. He'd come looking for him to witness Ford's self-destruction but the idea of scoring off him on a more personal level was rather compelling. Admittedly, it was less a plan than a possibility, but one worth playing out. He signaled to the bartender again, who seemed much more attentive now that Ford was not the only occupant of that end of the bar. Two more drinks appeared, and he pushed one towards Ford. He finished his first glass, then excused himself and left the second sitting untouched. He had little doubt Ford would drink it. He went to the front desk and checked into a room.

He returned to the expected empty glasses and sat back down. The bartender glanced at him, but he shook his head. Ford didn't deign to notice, lost in his own world again. Sterling leaned in close, close enough to smell the sour alcohol-laced sweat coming off him. "You shouldn't be out in public like this. What if it got back to I.Y.S.? Or Maggie?" An oddly calculating look briefly sharpened Ford's features, smoothed away so quickly he almost thought he'd imagined it. Ford looked away, reached for a glass and missed, knocking it loudly into its neighbor. He must have imagined it. "Tell you what, I've got a room upstairs. If you're so determined to get 'fucked', come up and finish the job privately."

Sterling leaned back on the stool, half dare and half invitation, and waited. Ford stared at him, frown playing around the edges of his expression. Then he shrugged. "Alright." Ford never could pass up a challenge, but Sterling was still slightly surprised he'd acquiesced so readily.

Still, don't look a gift horse, et cetera, et cetera. He stood, waited for Ford to do the same. Ford dropped off the stool, balanced himself against the bar while he found his legs. Sterling, impatient, stepped in, wedged his shoulder under Ford's arm and supported him with an arm wrapped around his waist. He steered them out of the bar and guided Ford's weaving steps toward the elevators. Ford's balance was off, his weight became more and more unevenly distributed between his uncertain feet and the arm draped across Sterling's shoulders.

When the car finally arrived, Sterling shoved Ford off him and against the far wall. He rubbed his neck before punching the button for his floor. When they arrived, he pulled Ford's arm back over his neck, hauled him upright again. Ford wasn't weaving quite so much. Perhaps the narrowness of the hallway helped, Sterling wasn't sure, nor did he particularly care.

Inside the room, Sterling propped Ford against the nearest wall, then hit the lights and latched the door. Ford glanced at the bar but somewhat surprisingly didn't move towards it, instead shrugging out of his jacket without actually moving away from the door, then letting it fall to the floor. He tugged his already askew tie off, then raised an eyebrow at Sterling. "I'm assuming you didn't bring me up here to get drunk. You don't care about my reputation."

"Not particularly," Sterling agreed. He hadn't expected Ford to roll over so easily. He put his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the door. "Don't let me stop you."

Ford made an annoyed noise, then set to work on the buttons of his vest. The movement of his fingers was deliberate but far from sure, and he kept his face turned down towards his hands. He didn't bother removing the vest before turning his attention to the shirt beneath. His fingers fumbled on the smaller buttons. He'd gotten no further than three undone before Sterling stepped in, brushing his hands aside.

Ford's hands slipped under his jacket, to rest just above his waist. His thumbs stroked up and down against Sterling's sides, surprisingly arousing even muted by the layers of cloth still between them. He finished unbuttoning the shirt front, then leaned in, bypassing the mouth that turned towards him to bite down on Ford's neck. Ford groaned, tipped his head out of the way, but Sterling didn't linger. He straightened, pulled Ford's right arm up between them and removed the cufflink, then did the same for the other hand. He dropped both cufflinks into Ford's hand and folded it closed around them with a smirk. "I trust you can handle the rest."

Sterling stepped away, began stripping out of his own clothes before Ford took it into his head to help. _His_ suit fit him fine, and he didn't want Ford ruining it. He had turned away and hung his suit and shirt neatly in the closet by the time Ford had finished fumbling out of his remaining clothes. Ford looked wan, worn to nothing without his clothes, vulnerable. Sterling slid his hand into his hair, glad he'd abandoned his usual slicked-back style, and pulled Ford's unresisting mouth down to his. He shoved his tongue into Ford's whiskey-tinged mouth, and Ford made a small greedy noise that shot straight to Sterling's cock. One fisted hand pressed hard between Sterling's shoulder blades, hauling him closer. Sterling thrust in again and tightened his hands on Ford's hair and waist to drag him towards the bed, fucking his mouth with his tongue as they went. Almost to the bed, their feet tangled, and they fell hard, half against the bed, Ford landing on top of him. Sterling supposed he should be grateful they'd made it that far -- and that he hadn't received an unfortunate bite, given Ford's state of inebriation. He shoved at Ford to let him up.

Ford shifted to the side. Sterling levered himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, debating the best way to lift Ford up from the floor if he couldn't get there on his own. Ford rolled up onto his knees, surprisingly graceful given the preceding tumble, and knelt up between Sterling's knees. It was an appealing visual; his cock twitched. Ford's eyes landed on his erection, and for the first time, he seemed to hesitate.

Sterling leaned back on his hands. "Are you going to stop now? One might wonder what you came up here for."

Irritation flashed across Ford's face, transforming him briefly back into the man he'd known, and Sterling bit back on the sound that tried to escape. Ford's hands settled featherlight on Sterling's thighs, and he graciously moved them further apart so Ford could edge closer, licking his lips nervously -- and then those lips descended without any sign of the earlier hesitation, sliding warm and firm halfway down his cock in one breath. "Yes," Sterling hissed and bucked into the wet mouth surrounding him; Ford shot him another irritated look, as though that would be a deterrent rather than stimulant, and he bucked again. Ford grunted, the sound vibrating around him, and Ford's hands tightened on him, then slid up to press his hips against the mattress. He shifted forward a bit, then started to move, slowly rising and falling, that mouth sliding a little further down every time.

Sterling dropped back onto his elbows, watched through eyes half-lidded as Ford worked him with his mouth, slowly building towards something like a regular rhythm. Ford's own eyes dropped closed, and he felt Ford's tongue moving against the underside of his cock, the slight suction as Ford swallowed at the top of stroke. He thrust up into the next downstroke just to feel the tightening of Ford's hands and perhaps see another that glimpse of the old Ford again. The man who always thought he knew everything, thought he could manage everything better. Sterling shifted his weight onto one elbow, freeing a hand to tangle in Ford's hair, pulling him down further. Ford's head pushed back against his hand, a tiny resistance, and Sterling smiled and shoved up harder into his hot mouth. The sound Ford made was... not entirely displeased, so Sterling tugged and thrust again, taking the pace out of Ford's control, making Ford take him how he wanted it. And Ford gave in, moving his hands off hips he hadn't had the leverage to hold still anyway. One encircled the base of his cock and began to slide up and down Sterling's length in tandem with his lips, the other moved back down to Sterling's thigh, riding the flexing of his leg as he fucked Ford's mouth.

He was fucking _Nathan Ford_ 's mouth. His wonderful, wet, cocksucking mouth. Sterling let his eyes fall closed, let himself drop flat on the bed. Both his hands were in Ford's hair now, controlling the other man's movements -- how fast, how far -- as his hips rolled up to meet his mouth. Every so often, Ford gave another small grunt, and Sterling's hands would clench so hard he was sure Ford was losing strands, but he didn't care and Ford didn't pull away -- or even try -- and soon Sterling was skirting the edge of orgasm, wanting it and not wanting this to end, his breath coming harsh and fast. Ford dropped his hand away and slid his lips down into the space left behind, swallowing hard against his cock, pushing Sterling to the brink. He shoved up into that hot tight space and felt Ford's wet finger slip between his cheeks, which was not on -- but the wet heat engulfing him proved irresistible, and with a shout, he came, slamming up into Ford. Ford grunted again, and the finger pressing inside sent an aftershock through him almost as strong as a second climax.

Sterling eventually dropped his hands from Ford's hair. Ford let his softening cock slip free and removed his intruding digit before hauling himself up to lay beside him. Sterling glanced over to see that Ford was still half-hard. He raised an eyebrow at him. Ford followed the track of his glance, then shrugged. "Alcohol."

Sterling snorted and looked at the ceiling. Long as Ford wasn't expecting him to do anything about it.

"Think I'll take a shower," Ford said, levering himself up on an elbow. "I don't want to go home smelling like--"

"Good idea," Sterling agreed, rolling to his feet. "You can have the next one."

Ford grumbled something that sounded like 'asshole' but didn't argue.

Sterling stood under the powerful spray for a long time with the water turned up hot enough to pink his skin. He again considered installing a larger water heater at his home, again dismissed the idea. He simply wasn't there enough to enjoy it. Eventually, he turned off the shower, stepped out into the steam-filled room to dry off. He thought he heard the thud of the room's door and paused, listening. He didn't hear Ford moving around; perhaps he'd dressed and left. Or maybe he'd passed out. He shrugged and pulled on the robe hanging on the back of the door.

The room felt colder after the warmth of the bathroom, and Sterling was grateful for the robe. Ford was still sprawled on the bed -- or rather, again sprawled on the bed, because the closet door had been closed. Curious. He stepped towards it, only to be pulled up short by Ford's voice. "My turn?"

"Go ahead," he replied, still eying the closet, until something about Ford's movements as he rose and strode toward him caught his attention. He hadn't quite put his finger on it before Ford was in front of him, hands curling into the robe and crushing their lips together. Slightly off-balance, he caught himself against Ford -- and that was it, Ford was relatively steady on his feet, despite the smell of alcohol still rising from his skin and the underlying taste of it in his mouth. Possibly, he'd been playing up his state of inebriation earlier. Definitely, he'd been drinking longer and harder than Sterling had thought, if he could function this well with that much in his system. Ford had been better at hiding it than he'd given the man credit for.

None of which mattered. He'd gotten what he'd come here for and more, and he'd be leaving -- as soon as he'd reclaimed his tongue from Ford's mouth. He hadn't actually meant to kiss Ford back, but he'd been distracted. Physically, he was ready for a second round, but something was whispering that it was a bad idea. He probably shouldn't have been surprised that Ford took his withdrawal from Ford's mouth as invitation to invade his own, but he was. Ford had been much more passive earlier -- remarkably so, in retrospect, but Ford's hand pushed aside the soft robe and all clear thoughts as it closed around his cock, stroking lightly. Sterling hardened and rocked forward into Ford's hand. Another hour wouldn't hurt; he'd worked on far less sleep.

He felt rather than saw the shift in Ford's expression and pulled back. Yes, that was very cat who'd got the cream. Ford seemed to think he'd gotten to him. Sterling backed him to the bed. Two hours; he wanted to hear Ford begging by the time he was done. He shoved Ford onto the bed, let him get situated near the center and dropped the robe before crawling up after him. He held himself over Ford, hands denting the mattress on either side of Ford's head. Then he slowly bent his elbows, lowered his mouth to Ford's neck and bit him again in the same spot by the corner of his jaw. Harder this time, but Ford still groaned and pushed into it, tilting his head away. He set his teeth, intending to bruise, and Ford's hands came up, pulling at him, nails digging into his back, dragging down his ribs. He let his weight fall fully onto Ford, pressing him down into the bed. He released the bite, swiped his tongue over sensitized skin, then bit him again, lower, and then placed another bite below that, tracing a line down his neck and onto his shoulder. Ford grunted, scratched -- and thrust up against him with every bite, his previously apathetic cock certainly taking an interest now. Sterling ground down against him hard, and Ford -- Ford flipped them.

Sterling opened his mouth, and Ford thrust against him, cock running alongside his in a way that left him gasping. One of Ford's hands left him for a moment, and then Ford was sliding down his body to rest between his legs. His breath hit Sterling's cock, and he became much more amenable to the change in position. Ford licked a long stripe up his cock, and he thrust towards that wonderful mouth. Ford tsked and braced his forearm across his hips, hand in a loose fist. This time, Ford could put real weight behind the restraining arm. He used his tongue again, and the next shift of Sterling's hips was the barest stutter.

The cat-cream expression flitted across his face again, and Sterling scowled. He didn't know what Ford thought he was playing at, but this was meant to be his game. He gripped Ford's hair again, drew his mouth to the head of his cock. Ford's weight shifted, leaning more on the arm laid over Sterling, pressing hard on his lower abdomen. Sterling's fist tightened, he pushed Ford down his cock -- and Ford's finger pushed into his ass, wet with more than saliva this time. His intended "no" came out more "nngh," as Ford sucked and crooked his finger, finding that same spot he'd hit before. The combined sensation was like nothing he'd experienced before, Ford's arm the only the keeping him from flying off the bed. His other hand flailed, then tangled in Ford's hair. A second finger penetrated him, and he hissed. It hurt somewhat, no matter that it was slick with the same substance as the first, and felt decidedly strange, especially with Ford moving them around. His hands clenched in Ford's hair, pulling. Ford's fingers twisted and spread, and a low noise escaped his throat, and even to himself it didn't sound anything like an objection. He meant to object, needed to put a stop to things, have words with Ford before this went any further. Ford followed Sterling's insistently tugging hands until only the head of his cock remained in his mouth, but no further. Lips sealed tight around the crown, he traced patterns with his tongue that didn't distract Sterling from the stranger sensations below. Ford withdrew his fingers almost completely then drove back in, and Sterling gasped in startled arousal. Ford repeated the action again, then again, striking an unmistakeable rhythm that his traitorous hips were shortly attempting to join in, no matter that this was something he didn't do, certainly not with _Ford_.

"Jesus, Ford, I don't--" Ford's fingers drove the words from his head. He tried again. "You want to, _fuck_ , I'll do you."

Ford let his cockhead pop free of his mouth and moved the arm that had been restraining Sterling's thrusts to the mattress to prop himself up. His fingers never paused. "No thanks, I've already been screwed by I.Y.S. once." A small part of Sterling wondered if he'd already heard about his job and how, or whether there was something else going on he should have looked into. But most of him was focused on the continued motion of Ford's hand, trying not to push into it and failing. Then the fingers pulled away, and Sterling's eyes dropped closed as he braced for a new intrusion... that didn't come.

He opened his eyes. Ford was staring intently at his face. "Do you want me to stop?"

"We could--"

Ford shook his head. "No. No negotiations. Either I'm going to fuck you, or we're done and I leave you be. Which is it?"

Ford, the utter bastard, waited seemingly patiently and kept his hands to himself. Not giving Sterling anything he could look back on and call an undue influence. Though frankly, he'd already done enough; Sterling felt wired, ready for something, anything more than a quick wank and a night's sleep. "Fine, yes, dammit." Ford just looked at him, and Sterling irritably clarified, "Fuck me."

Sterling was really starting to hate Ford's satisfied smile. Ford shifted to kneel up between Sterling's legs. He squeezed more lube out of the small bottle he'd had hidden in his fist, worked it up and down his cock until the surface shone with it. Sterling tried to keep the trepidation off his face -- Ford's cock, though not bigger than his own, seemed considerably larger than two fingers.

"It would be easier if you rolled over." Sterling glared at him, and he shrugged. Ford hooked his arms under Sterling's knees, pressed them up towards his chest. Ford's cock slid against his crack, up and down, skidding right over the hole. He shivered, and it was closer to anticipation than he would have admitted. Ford moved one of his legs up onto his shoulder to free a hand; Sterling was trying to shift into a marginally more comfortable position when Ford guided his cock to his ass and pushed. Yes, bigger, and the pained sting was back even though Ford was barely inside, but Ford had practically dared him to call off or go easier, and if he were honest with himself, he was as susceptible to a challenge as Ford.

He dug his fingernails into Ford's shoulders, then his sides as he tried to hurry him along, unsure this was even going to _work_. Ford inched his way inside, with incremental little hitching motions that did funny things to Sterling's breath, until he reached a tipping point and slid fully inside in one final slide. Ford stilled, eyes closed and panting. The arms bracing him over Sterling shook a little. Sterling felt stretched wide, stuffed full, no longer entirely hard and a little uncertain at this late point -- but because it was him and because this was Ford, he ignored all that and pulled out his best sardonic voice and the matching expression. "That all you got?"

Ford's eyes opened. "Hardly." He ground against him, making the cock shift inside him with the motion, then pulled slowly back, allowing Sterling to feel every millimeter, then thrust in hard. Sterling grunted. Ford began another slow withdrawal. "Too much for you?"

Sterling gave half a second's consideration to answering the question honestly, but even if the likelihood of him getting much out of it seemed slim, he was not backing down. "Why, is it -- ah!" Ford snapped his hips forward, but Sterling doggedly held on to his sentence. "-- for you?"

Ford didn't reply verbally, just let slip that damn smile and began to move. Sterling closed his eyes and focused on the sensations instead of Ford. The steady motion, neither as slow nor as sharp as before, felt weird but not exactly uncomfortable as his body adjusted to it. Though the position Ford had him folded into was awkward. Ford's arms kept him from dropping his legs, but he could maybe shift-- he arced up with a gasp. Ford's next thrust struck the same place, and now Sterling remembered why this had seemed like a good idea. He braced himself against Ford, chasing the right angle. He met the roll of his hips with his own, as he grew hard again. The feeling was amazing -- the feeling of Ford's cock inside him, though he kept tried to set aside the specifics. It didn't matter that it was Ford. Didn't matter that he was getting fucked by Ford. What mattered was the heat curling inside him, the tightening-building sensation of an orgasm hovering just out of reach. He removed his hand from Ford's side where his nails had been digging half-moons into the skin, wrapped it around himself and stroked in time to Ford's thrust, spilling over his fingers in no time at all.

As Sterling came down, Ford was still moving inside him at the same steady pace. He wiped his hand on the sheet, then put his hand back up onto Ford's side. He opened his eyes and watched Ford's face for a moment. Then he dragged his nails hard up his sides. Ford grunted and stuttered forward, so he did it again. Ford sped up, pounding harder into him, progressively harder to the edge of discomfort. Sterling grunted and dug in his nails as Ford bottomed out, once, twice, again, then stilled, and Sterling could feel the throb of his cock, the rush of wet. He made a face, but Ford was collapsing on him, and he was just barely able to get his legs out of the way. After a moment, he pushed him off and to the side. He needed another shower, but he let his eyes drift closed for just a moment first.

Sterling half-woke to the sound of the shower stopping. The gap between the curtains let in more than enough light to see by. Despite his intentions, he'd slept through to morning. Someone knocked loudly on the door; Ford must have ordered room service against his card. Sterling wasn't getting up for it. The knock came again, and Ford emerged from the bathroom to answer it. Sterling frowned; he couldn't see the door properly, but the sounds were off.

Ford walked into the main room, a dry cleaning bag rather than tray in hand. His hair was slicked back with water -- it wouldn't last, but for the moment, he was recognizably himself. He lay the suit out on the bed, then seemed to notice Sterling sitting up for the first time. "You might as well go back to sleep."

"What did you do?" he demanded. Not waiting on the answer, he threw back the sheets, stormed over to the closet and yanked the door open. His clothes were missing; Ford's had been as well -- they'd been neither in the closet nor on the floor, where they should have been in plain sight as he left the bathroom last night. That's what had been bothering him.

"Cleaning service." Ford waved a hand, dismissive, then went back to tucking his shirt into his pants. "I'm afraid I didn't ask for express service for yours. Your clothes will be returned later, but I have a meeting to get to this morning." He stepped in front of the vanity mirror and started tying his tie with every sign of cheerfulness and no sign of a hangover. Sterling knew he'd be seeing charges against the room's bar.

"Why--?"

"Payback. And if I played my cards right, a clean suit." He shrugged. "Or maybe it was the other way around." When Ford turned to pick up his vest, he saw that the purpling bruise from his teeth was clearly visible above his collar and took a sharp satisfaction from it.

"You can't possibly have planned this."

Ford nodded, as though in agreement. As he stepped past Sterling to the exit, he gave him a condescending little pat on the cheek. "And how did you know where to find me? I hope you enjoy your continued tenure with the devil." The door closed with a solid thump behind him.

Sterling stared at the door for a moment in silence. Then he shook his head, something like a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It was almost too bad Ford was on his way out -- there could have been a hell of a rematch in their future.


End file.
